


Muggle Potions

by viajera_pensativa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, F/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 19:36:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18394979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viajera_pensativa/pseuds/viajera_pensativa
Summary: After the war, many magical people are struggling with sadness over those they've lost. Some coping strategies do more harm than good. (Unfinished, not currently being worked on)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old story I started and never continued with. I would consider expanding on it if anyone is interested, but currently am kind of embarrassed by it. I know very little about serious drug withdrawal other than one time being picked up by a couple who were addicted to heroin while hitchhiking who then had their car break down and started going into withdrawals when they ran out of the substance they were reliant on. Other than that it is all impressions from media and second-hand accounts. Some of what is written here is based on that first-hand experience. 
> 
> At that time, the girl of the pair was interested in an experimental treatment to cure heroin addiction that was allowed in Europe, but not in the United States. She wished she could go there to get effective help. I hope she found the help she needed.

How did it come to this? Harry wondered as he held the needle up to his arm. His skin throbbed in time with the heat waves of the sun reflecting off the lake. A light breeze passed through the leaves of the tree he was sitting under, reminding him to breathe. As he inhaled, a surge of strength flowed through him, and he carefully hid the needle in an empty compartment of his book bag. After double-checking to make sure it wouldn't fall out, he walked determinedly to the castle.

As he came through the castle doors, Hermione appeared from around a corner. “Oh, Harry, where have you been? You ditched Charms today and if we don't hurry we'll be late to Potions. I do so love all the new potions Professor Hapthorn's been teaching us. I wish we could do more each day though, it seems as if the class has been proceeding incredibly slowly. I'm going to ask her today if she can start an Honors Potions class, they have those at Muggle schools, you know, for the advanced students. I mean, Honors classes, not Potions. You know, I am just eating all this knowledge up.” She spoke very quickly, without stopping to breathe. She had grabbed his arm and was pulling him down the hall.

“No, Hermione, I've, uh, got to go see McGonagall about something. Its important.” He pulled his arm away from her, roughly, because she was holding on so tightly, and began to walk backwards down the hall, talking as he went.

“But you'll miss Po-”

“Hermione, there are more dangerous Potions than the ones any wizard brews being used in this school. I'll see you later.” With that, he sprinted down the hall in haste, before he encountered any more distractions.

 

* * *

 

The clock on the wall behind McGonagall's –which used to be Dumbledore's-- had a dark wooden frame. It's pendulum hung in stillness. The face, made of some unknown substance, revealed nothing to the untrained eye, instead showing pictures of various animals and no numbers whatsoever. It reminded Harry of all the wizard clocks he had seen. They were all unique, each specifically designed for their users purposes. This clock, however, told him nothing about how soon McGonagall would return from the back rooms she had retired to, in order to perform some unknown but highly important task, insisting as she went that she would not be long, and Harry should remain in her office.

Impatience did not describe Harry's feelings at the moment. Nervousness, rather, as each passing moment he felt some of the strength that had welled up in him by the lake sinking down into the wicker chair he sat on; down through the many floors of the castle; down, through the piping system underneath Hogwarts; down, down, down.... A shiver ran up Harry's spine, then subtlety sneaked into the bones of his arms; his legs. His head spun.

“Well now, Harry, it is good to see you. Please excuse me for keeping you waiting. I think about you often, my boy. I am glad you have come to vis-Harry, what's wrong?!” McGonagall, who had strode into the office, her black Headmistress robes swishing around her legs, practically tripped over herself as she rushed to Harry's side.

“I came to tell you,” Harry breathed weakly, “Er, confess, really...I've been-” Without a warning, he vomited all over himself, the floor, and the Headmistress' robes. She was too shocked to react, and before she could speak or move, he continued, now with a rank smell coming from his mouth. “P-potions, Professor, M-muggle potions....” The room was spinning, he could not make out McGonagall's face....Harry's eyes rolled back in his head, and then he fainted, collapsing forward, his forehead disgustingly hitting the edge of the Headmistress's desk before he rolled to the floor.

McGonagall was nearly as pale in the face as Harry. She summoned her wand, too startled to wonder as it hit her hand how she had managed to do so with just her bodily power. A few words and he was floating in the air in front of her, she was running down the already moving spiral staircase, racing to the hospital ward.

 

* * *

 

“Poppy, it's Harry, he's fainted-”

“I know, dear, I saw you coming. Put him on that bed over there, near the wall.” Flitwick had developed a device for the hospital ward that made a loud dinging noise when someone was injured and heading that way. Then Madam Pomfrey could look at a strip of parchment hanging on the wall that listed the name of the injured person and their symptoms.

“Tell me everything you know, Minerva,” Madam Pomfrey said seriously as she took Harry's pulse.

“He came into my office, asking to talk to me. I was busy having a Floo conference with one of the Minister's assistants, so I asked him to wait, and when I came back, he looked very pale. His eyes were out of focus, and he was swaying in the chair he was sitting in. I tried to ask him what was wrong, and then he threw up all over me.”

“I can see that,” Madam Pomfrey said pointedly. McGonagall looked down at her robes,

“Oh.” She quickly magicked the vomit away. “Anyways, right after that, he was trying to tell me something, but he passed out. Check his head, he hit it on the edge of my desk when he fainted.”

“That's easy enough.” Madam Pomfrey pulled a bottle off a shelf behind the hospital bed, opened it, and gently rubbed some of the liquid in it on Harry's bleeding and bruised forehead. Then, with a touch of her wand, the cut healed itself. Using the same spell McGonagall had used to clean her robes, she wiped Harry's face clean of blood. “What will be difficult is figuring out why he fainted so I can treat him. What did he say before he passed out, Minerva?”

“He said he wanted to tell me something. Confess to something. Then he said, 'Muggle potions'. Oh, that doesn't make any sense at all! Muggles don't make potions! Maybe he tried to use a potion on a Muggle?” McGonagall's face contorted into a look of strained confusion.

“OK, well, I'll have to keep him here until we figure this out. He's started to shiver.” McGonagall looked down at the bed to see that Harry was shaking erratically. Madam Pomfrey walked over to the hospital bookshelf and pulled down a book titled _A Survey of Muggle Medicine_. As she skimmed through it, McGonagall noticed that most of the pictures in the book did not move. “There's nothing more you can do right now, Minerva. Best to get back to the other students. Although perhaps you should find Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley and send them in here. Send Ginny Weasley an owl too. Between his girlfriend and his best friends, someone ought to have a clue as to what is going on.”


	2. Chapter 2

Drearily, Harry became aware of himself. He was very sore, and resting on a vaguely familiar bed. He didn't want to open his eyes. He wanted to figure out where he was first.

He tried to roll over, but realized he couldn't. His arms and legs were restrained. Realizing this, he pulled his eyelids apart and saw white. A white ceiling in a dark room.

“Harry!” Ginny's voice squealing his name conveyed a complicated mess of emotions, no less complicated than the ones bombarding him as memories returned to him. “You're awake.” She softened her tone as she stated this obvious fact. Harry was relieved his girlfriend was there, But where were they?

“Ginny where am I? I can't move, and I'm terribly sore. The last thing I remember is trying to tell McGonagall-” He cut himself off awkwardly.

“I know, Harry. She told us everything. I figured out what was going on immediately of course. But don't worry, I didn't explain. I told them it would be up to you when you came around.”

“Er, right. So where am I? And why can't I move?” He gulped back the thick mucus that had accumulated in his mouth since he awoke. Ginny knew? Shit.

“You fainted, Harry. All you said to McGonagall was that you had a confession to make, and that it had something to do with Muggle potions. She had no idea what that meant of course. You're in the hospital wing. I've put a full-body bind on you because I thought you might have a craving when you came to. You're been going through heavy withdrawals in your sleep, shaking and shivering, talking about things hardly anyone understands.” Ginny sniffled a bit. “Even I couldn't make out all of it. I've been incredibly scared.” She started to cry, quietly at first, then louder, as she realized that she didn't care if anyone heard her. “Harry, I don't want to lecture you right now, 'cause I'm your girlfriend, not your mother--” as she realized what she had just said, she broke off with a gasp--”I-I mean―I'm just so shocked. We agreed when we started experimenting that none of us would ever go that far, do anything that serious. How could you Harry?” Her weeping grew softer, but never faded away completely. She leaned onto his chest, getting the sheet wet with her tears. Harry tried to look down at her but couldn't even move his head. Only a few stray red hairs were in his field of vision.

Guilt flooded his consciousness, “I don't know how it got this far, Ginny,” he nearly whispered, “but I promise its over. I've learned my lesson. That's why I went to McGonagall. For help, not just for me, but for the other students too. And for you. I was sitting down by the lake, about t-- about to...shoot up. Then a breeze came through the trees, and I remembered the day that we were down by the lake skinny-dipping while everyone else was in Hogsmeade, and your shirt blew away from where you'd left it on the bank, and we both went chasing after it, running across the grounds naked. I remembered how we laughed that day, how completely joyful it was. And once I remembered that, my mind was made up.” As he finished speaking, Ginny climbed onto the hospital bed, climbed on top of him and began kissing his face, kissing his neck, his ears, hugging him tightly. This was very uncomfortable for Harry as he was still in the body bind and could not move at all, but then, as if she had read his mind, she fumbled for her wand and released him, and then he wrapped his arms around her and they held each other, and somehow he found the release he needed to be able to cry. They sobbed into each other, holding each other, until their sad sounds subsided, because they needed to breathe.

“I'm glad to have you back, my love. I wish I had never left.” Ginny, who had been in her sixth year while Harry was searching for Horcruxes, had returned to Hogwarts with the now famous trio for her seventh year while they made up for their lost year of formal education. But she had left a month before to comfort her mother when Mrs. Weasley was struck by the depression that was bouncing around the entire wizarding community of Britain since the war had ended.

“No, it wouldn't have made a difference, I don't think. I was already curious about it-” (Harry couldn't bring himself to say the word 'heroin'. In his mind, it sounded worse than 'Voldemort' ever had.) “before you left. At least this way, you didn't have to see me at my worst.” Harry gently traced his fingers from freckle to freckle on Ginny's face, to the one by her ear and then down her arm, as they lay closely next to each other in the tiny hospital bed. “Oohhhh, I'm in so much pain. I never imagined it could be this bad after only a few weeks.” He cringed, trying to double over and nearly pushing his girlfriend off the bed. She sat up.

“No, don't go...”

“Where does it hurt the most?” she demanded. He pointed to his legs, and she began to massage them, gently squeezing his muscles. “How many times did you do it, Harry?” She looked up from where her soft and strong hands kneaded away his suffering, and straight into his deep green eyes as she asked this question that had been percolating through her brain ever since she had received the owl from McGonagall two nights before.

“At least fifteen. Half of those in the last week though. And the last 'batch' that poor bastard brewed wasn't completely 'Muggle-made'. He added something magical, although I don't know what. Why else would I have been unconscious for―hey how long has it been anyway?” Harry asked as he realized he didn't know what day it was. Oh, Ginny's hands on his muscles felt so good. Some of the soreness was dissipating, but there was still a deeper ache, an ache in his bones that he knew intuitively no amount of massaging could relieve.

“You've been out for two and a half days. See why I was so worried?” He silently pondered this, appreciating his girlfriend's dedication. He felt so amazed when he thought about how wonderful the past year had been with her, in between the fits of post-war depression. Even the depression, though, they had gotten through together. Until she seemed to be coming to terms with the death of her brother, while he had relapsed into thoughts of Sirius, blaming himself for Sirius' death on two accounts. If he had allowed Lupin and Sirius to kill Pettigrew that night, Sirius might still be alive. Better Pettigrew than Sirius. And if he had learned Legilimency, had gone to Dumbledore and demanded to be taught by someone without the considerable biases Snape had...mmmm, Ginny's hands felt so good, massaging his thighs, comforting him, loving him, forgiving him.... If she had forgiven him, why hadn't he forgiven himself? He had held himself accountable for so much that wasn't really under his control. If anything in the world was dark magic, it was guilt, especially prolonged guilt, guilt that he should know better than to internalize. This was his chance to forgive himself for all the things that weren't his fault, to really begin healing--

“Woah!” Harry gasped because Ginny, who had massaged all the way up his thighs, had just reached into his boxers and tantalizingly stroked his 'other wand' with the tips of her fingers. Amazingly, this was one of the few parts of his body that did not seem to be sore.

Before he could regain his sense of equilibrium, she was softly kissing his hips, rubbing her hands over his bare chest (he had been sleeping in nothing but his underwear apparently), and then she was pulling his boxers down, they were disappearing to the foot of the bed. As she did this, he felt himself getting hard. Harry looked down at her, not surprised, really, but remembering a passion that had been absent in his life in the month she had been at home. Not that he had much of a sex drive while he was doing heroin anyways. He had forgotten the point of pleasure...forgot it even existed it seemed.

And now she was reminding him. Not so much with passion, no, she was being gentle, kissing his skin through his tangle of dark pubic hair, licking his cock as she gently sucked on it from the sides, slowly moving up to suck his head with the tenderness one savors their favorite chocolate when they only have one. “Mmmmm....” she moaned into him, and the vibrations reverberated up into his gut. “Mmmmmmmm....” she moaned again, demonstrating how much pleasure she was getting out of pleasuring him, and this time the vibrations carried all the way to his heart, bringing more moisture to his eyes. Crying during sex, he thought. Bloody ridiculous. But then he couldn't think to criticize himself, because she was taking him deeply into her mouth now, sucking, twirling her tongue around him, drooling so much he briefly wondered how he would explain why the bed was so wet to Madam Pomfrey the next day...oh wait, they could magic it away...why was he worrying about that right now? Ginny looked up at him then, and as he looked into her eyes, he saw that she knew he was distracted. “Wrelax,” she managed to articulate around a mouthful of his boner.

He leaned back into the pillow, allowing himself to relax, reaching down to caress her as she reached up to take his hands in hers, their fingers intertwining. His cock was deep within her mouth; his hips moved up to meet her rapid sucking. He felt his orgasm coming, felt the waves of pleasure rolling higher and higher, until they came to a peak...and then crashed, splashing their saltiness into his love's mouth, and she was drinking him, her tongue still now, but her lips wrapped around him, pampering him. She kept her mouth around him as his orgasm slowed, faded. He breathed deeply, waiting a moment, feeling her warm breath around his cock, then pulled her to him. She climbed up next to him, and they kissed each other to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of projecting going on in this story. Would Harry and Ginny actually go skinny dipping in the lake? Probably not in character. Do I like skinny dipping? Yes. Therefore, they go skinny dipping.
> 
> Also, this is where I started to realize I hadn't plotted the story very well. I don't know how long it would take for Harry to get super addicted, but it originally sounded like it had been a problem for _a while_ , but if Ginny was around, she would have helped for sure, so I had to get rid of her...it all fell apart. I don't have motive to re-write it, but if anyone comes across this and has interest in me continuing it and suggestions for how to fill the plot holes, I welcome them.


	3. Chapter 3

“Well I never!” Madam Pomfrey huffed when she came into the hospital wing in the morning and found Ginny and Harry cuddling underneath the sterile white sheets, waking them with a start. “I hope you don't think that just because you've been sick you are allowed to break every rule of the school! Co-ed bunking! And naked! Not to mention the germs you could have transferred. Ginny, do you realize what kind of a risk you are taking being in that bed? Who knows what made Harry sick? You could catch it!” As she ranted, she stormed around the ward, opening up the drapes and dusting.

“Madam Pomfrey, I really appreciate that you care about our health. I understand you need decorum in here as well. I would like to point out though, that Harry and I are adults. I think that the teenage wizard who defeated Voldemort might be mature enough to decide when to cuddle and who to cuddle with,” Ginny spoke in a respectful, yet assertive tone. Harry marveled at this. When had she become so eloquent? Going through the war had matured her way beyond her years.

“Hmpf,” Madam Pomfrey snorted, thinking, that was fine, but not in her hospital beds. She decided to leave that alone, instead inquiring, “So young man, now that you are healthy enough to bed your girlfriend – don't blush, if you're old enough to be sleeping with girls, you're old enough to talk about it – as I was saying, now that you are awake, would you like to shed some light on why I have been stumped for a medical diagnosis for the first time in all my time at Hogwarts?”

Harry's face went from red to white as he realized that the moment of truth had come. No turning back now, he thought. “Yes. I would love to. I'd rather not explain more times than I have to though, so perhaps you can find Professor McGonagall? I want her to hear this.” His voice grated on the words; his throat was once again clogged with now-dry mucus.

Madam Pomfrey pulled open the last drape and glided out of the room, her dignity obviously ruffled by being spoken to in such a way from such young people. War hero my foot! she thought. Without me, half those injured in the Battle of Hogwarts wouldn't have survived. But she went to fetch Professor McGonagall anyway.

As she closed the doors to the hospital wing behind her, Harry squeezed Ginny close to him. “You were great. Maybe you can teach me how to stand up to someone without sounding insolent sometime. But in the meantime, we'd better get some clothes on. I really don't know what McGonagall would do if she finds us in bed together, and I don't think that I want to find out right before I tell her that there's drug trafficking going on right under her nose.” He kissed her gently on the lips, and then added, “By the way, thanks for...last night. I realized something last night. But now isn't the time to talk about it. I love you.” Ginny kissed him back, and then climbed out of bed, smoothing the wrinkles of her robes (her robes had stayed on).

“I love you, too.” The simple statement was multi-layered. She magicked away the stains of bodily fluids on the bed, then peered into a nearby hanging mirror to arrange her hair. Harry wiggled into his boxers, which had luckily been cleaned with Ginny's spell, and then tried to climb out of bed to put in his robes, which were folded on a chair next to the bed. As he attempted to stand up though, his legs gave way. Ginny rushed to his side.

“Be careful, Harry! You're still weak.” She helped him back into the bed, then pulled his freshly laundered robes over his head. She was just tucking him back under the sheets when McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey stepped in and walked silently up to them.

“Potter, I don't even know where to begin. I have been devastatingly worried about you. Please explain. Thank you for asking Poppy to fetch me,” she said sincerely. Interesting, Harry thought. After all those years of being her student, she now sees me as almost an equal. Just like everyone else. We're both adults now. He remembered what Ginny had said about him defeating Voldemort. I guess thought automatically qualifies me for the 'adult club' he thought, not sure how felt about that.

“Professor, what I have to say, it's not going to make you happy. In fact, I would be terrified to tell you if I didn't know that not telling you is worse. And I worry that you might not handle this in a way that is...” How could he nicely say, 'you might handle it in a way that is too strict'? “What I'm trying to say is, I don't want anyone to get in trouble, or ruin someone's fun. It's not all bad, you know.” Now that the moment had come, he was stumbling over his words, disclaimers were popping into his head in random order. McGonagall noticed this and had no patience for it.

“Harry,” she implored him, using his first name, “You're going backwards. Start from the beginning.”

* * *

 

 

The sound of the train pulling away from Platform Nine and Three Quarters seemed unreal. “Mates, I think we are the first students ever to go to Hogwarts for their eighth year,” Ron commented to Hermione and Harry. They had towered over most of the other students at the train station. Now they were tucked away in the last car of the train, which had been reserved for them so they could have privacy from the awed masses.

“Well, technically, it is only your seventh year, since the only 'class' you attended at Hogwarts last year was Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Ginny said darkly from her perch on Harry's lap. Was that supposed to be a joke? Harry wondered. If so, it wasn't really funny.

“Still, we're a year older than the Head Boy and Girl! How's that for a record-breaker?” Ron was not to be distracted from his excitement over returning to school.

And why shouldn't he be? Hermione mused. She shifted her weight and shook her hair to the side. Ron, sitting next to her on the seat, began to massage her shoulders. It's going to seem absurd to have some sense of normalcy this year. Even more odd would be feeling safer than any of them had in years. “Ron, dear, I think you have broken more memorable records than going to Hogwarts at age 18. You've probably even made up new records!” Like, 'Longest Time a Boy Waited Before Dating a Girl who He Loved and Who Obviously Wanted Him'. Best to keep that quip to herself though. They were together now, and that's what counted.

The train ride went by as if nothing had ever happened, and they really were just headed to their seventh year, in a world where dark magic only existed in history books. They chatted about Quidditch, and their upcoming classes. No one brought up any of the infinite sadness they collectively felt about their lost loved ones. When they witch who pushed the snack trolley came by, she dumped a heap of candy on them before they could so much as reach for the pocketbooks. “On the house, dearies!” she called gaily as she pushed the compartment door closed behind her when she left.

And that was how it had been, since the war had ended. None of them could walk into any wizard pub or shop without being showered with free drinks on the house, or many baskets full of that shop's wares. Shopping for new school supplies had been a joke. No money had changed hands on their group trip to Diagon Alley the week before. All four of them were treated in every shop they entered, finally heading back to the Burrow with full new sets of regular and dress robes, designer quills, sets of rare potion ingredients, and, for all but Harry (who obviously already had one), brand new Firebolts. Not to mention invitations to come back whenever they needed anything, no money necessary.

They each responded very differently to this treatment. Ron and Ginny, who had grown up poor, were initially embarrassed were but soon became quite happy with the arrangement. Hermione humbly accepted the gifts, feeling it was rude to do otherwise. Harry, though, had become bothered by it. He knew it didn't make sense, but something about it was tiring.

Despite his weariness of unlimited free gifts, he opened a Pumpkin Pasty. It tasted nourishing. He hadn't eaten since the quick bowl of porridge at the Burrow that morning. He was living with the Weasley's now. He couldn't bare to move into Grimmauld Place yet. It was too big and lonely, and there were too many reminders of Sirius. His thoughtful chewing was interrupted by a knock on the compartment door. “Come in,” Hermione rang out clearly after swallowing a huge bite of Chocolate Frog.

An unfamiliar boy of about seventeen walked in. He hadn't changed into his school robes yet. He was wearing baggy jeans and an over-sized sweatshirt with the hood on, despite being on a warm train. This seemed a little odd, but even stranger was the accent he spoke in when he introduced himself. “ 'Sup? I heard there's a bunch of war heroes back here. Thought I'd come say hi, say thanks for helping me come home to my Motherland.”

He sounded like he was American.

“What?” Hermione asked, confused. The boy held out his hands and raised his eyebrows in an attitude of 'I don't know where to start'.

“Sit down and tell us your story. I can tell you've got one, man. But shut the door behind you, or we won't be able to hear you talk over the squeals of eleven year olds,” Ron beamed at him. “I'm Ron by the way. I know you probably already know that, but even famous folks like to introduce themselves sometimes.” Ron held out his hand, and as he did so, the other boy held up a fist, which he held awkwardly in front of Ron's hand for a second before accepting the shake.

“I'm Daren,” Daren said as he slipped into the seat opposite Ron and Hermione and across the aisle from Ginny and Harry. “My story isn't too long. I just came to England for the first time this month. Special permission to attend Hogwarts for seventh year. I've never been in England before because my mom, who is a Muggle-born witch, left the country in fear of Voldemort less than a year before he lost power the first time, to try to protect herself. Put an ocean between herself and evil, so to speak.” Daren took a breath and continued his story.

“She figured out she was pregnant pretty quick, which she had already suspected. And since my father was a full-blown Muggle, she thought I wouldn't be safe at all in a country full of powerful wizards hell bent to purify the bloodlines or whatever. By the time you-” here Daren gestured towards Harry - ”defeated Voldemort as a baby, she had already made a home for herself way out West in California. And she wasn't so sure he wouldn't come back either. She stayed, and raised me as a Californian. She told me I was a wizard once I was old enough and she had seen me do enough accidental magic to be sure. Then she started homeschooling me, teaching me all the things she had learned at Hogwarts, and brewing up knowledge potions so I could pass the standardized tests homeschool kids have to do once a year so they prove they're learning Muggle stuff.”

Some of this was going right over Ron and Ginny's heads, but Hermione who had started to read some international books over the summer, nodded. Daren continued: “When we heard Voldemort had officially come back, my mom was terrified. We moved into the slummy part of a dangerous city, in hopes that we could stay on the DL there, not attract attention, y'know? And then, once my mom finds out he been killed for good this time, she packs all our shit and says, 'hey we're going home to England'. I didn't want to leave my crew, but the way she talked about England I knew it was important to her, so I came willingly. So far I like it. We live better here than we did in Sacramento. So,” Daren stood up and looked at Harry. “Thanks. I get to see the country I was conceived in. Cause of you.” He reached out a fist again, and Harry, catching on, tapped Daren's fist with his own. “Thanks to all of you.” Daren looked around the compartment once more, then walked towards the door. “See you around, Hogwarts, eh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is as far as I got. I had already created so many plot contradictions that I didn't know how to work myself out of the corner I was backed into. Ideas welcome if anyone wants to see this story go further.


End file.
